My legs are weak from the miles they've run
trying to escape the reflection of the mirror
stretch marks all across them are
the battle scars from the wars
I have waged against myself
My throat sore
from the many times it has fought back
my attempts to empty myself
and spill the remains of my soul
down the drain
My hands are no longer soft
having held items far too sharp for their own good
My wrists scarred from being the bulls-eye
of arrows I chose to shoot
My eyes are no longer lovely
they display blood-red veins
from the bullets that've been fired at them
      
My body is a battlefield and I'm pleading surrender.